As Ashe followed the group down from the sacred bridge at Pira Silat towards the Lalish valley, he wondered what had happened to the Kochek.
‘Jiddan cuts wood for the sanctuary.’
Ashe stopped dead. Gunshots. He reached for his Browning.
Jolo laughed. ‘Pilgrims at Silavgeh.’
‘What?’
‘Place of Greeting. On Mount Meshet. South of the valley. Pilgrims at festivals fire rifles when they come to stone. This is when they see Lalish first time. They kiss special stone on the path.’
Ashe climbed a hillock and the fabulous valley of Lalish opened out before him. Two miles of winding paths, woodland, olive groves, vines, and the most extraordinary collection of buildings he had ever seen in his life. To the south, Mount Meshet rose like a host at a festive table.
‘Our songs teach us this holy valley of Lalish came down from heaven. It is called the Site of Truth,’ said Jolo. ‘Tomorrow is Wednesday, our holy day, so the pilgrims make special fires tonight.’
The valley looked magical, aglow with little fires. Jolo pointed out the shrine they were headed for and explained that, like all Sheykhs, Sheykh Adi was a historical figure who trod a spiritual path, and was understood by the Yezidis as a kind of angel – a reflection of the divine. Before Ashe could ask him to elaborate, Jolo was eagerly pointing out the shrines of Sheykh Obekr, Sheykh Hesen, Pîr Êsîbiya, Sheykh Babik, Sheykh Tokel, Pîr Jerwan, Sheykh Sheref el-Dîn, and Sultan Êzîd, each one lit by hundreds of tiny flames burning gently in bowls of olive oil set in the stonework. Ashe was enchanted. It was as though the valley was filled with falling snowflakes, ignited from within, flickering peacefully down.
The air was sweet and pure; Lalish was clean.
As the men walked down into the valley, Ashe’s attention was caught by three conical spires resembling upturned ice-cream cones, topped by golden globes.
‘What’s that?’
‘Ah! Those are the qubbe, the spires, of the mazar of Sheykh Shems, Tobbiash.’
‘That’s where you said I could speak to the English saint.’
‘Yes. Wait! I go see if you allow in. Not much time before we must be at big ceremony at Sheykh Adi, Tobbiash.’
Jolo walked quickly on ahead, leaving Ashe and Richmond to make their way down towards the Shrine of Sheykh Adi.
‘Know anything about this Sheykh Adi, Simon?’
‘You’ll have to look this up – not that there’s much in English. As far as I know, he was a… What’s that word in Islam? Oh, you know, whirling dervishes – the mystical thing.’
‘Sufis.’
‘Right. Adi was a Sufi. He came here in the 1200s. From the Bekaa Valley in Syria.’
‘No border in those days, Simon.’
‘What is a Sufi, Toby?’
‘Comes from the Arabic word for wool. They wore white woollen robes – like Jiddan. Simple life, given to ecstatic communion with the spirit of God. The Sufis follow what they call a “path”, a spiritual path, sometimes named after the teacher of that path. Adi started a path. People are still following it. Sufism has been called the gnosis of Islam.’
‘Ger-nosis?’
‘Yeah, well, the “g” is usually silent – like the “k” in knowledge. It means knowledge, actually.’
‘The knowledge of how to extricate oneself from this world.’
‘Say that again.’
‘The knowledge of how to extricate oneself from this world: in Gnostic thinking, the one who is truly alive is the one who has died to the world.’
‘You could argue that suicide bombing is a kind of perversion of that idea.’
‘It’s certainly a perversion.’
Simon laughed. ‘You should be in the propaganda unit.’
‘What’s that sound?’
Ashe and Richmond listened hard. They heard water rushing beneath their feet. Beneath the path were tunnels that fed streams through the valley. The waters were collected in cisterns. They were used for baptising children, and for the initiation of pirs or holy men into the mysteries of the tradition.
Soon their feet were echoing on great, smooth flagstones that paved a large square. The walls were made of huge stones – older than the crusades, Ashe surmised.
Jolo came running into the forecourt. ‘You are blessed, Tobbiash. Tonight, the guardian of Sheykh Shems Sanctuary is here. Remember we speak of Hamo Shero?’
‘Chief of the Mountain?’
‘The grandson of Hamo Shero is here. He is Khidr, son of Khudêda, son of Hamo Shero. He is representative of the Mir in Sinjar.’
‘The who?’
‘The Mir. Prince of the Yezidi people. Tehsin Beg. Major Richmond, he explain.’
‘The man Jolo is talking about is Sheykh el-Wezîr, the Mir’s deputy in the Sinjar. Fine man.’
‘Tobbiash, Khidr say you come to him at Sheykh Shems after the ceremony at Sanctuary of Sheykh Adi – and you speak to English saint in circle. I have arranged this for you.’
‘Why?’
‘Gulé and Kochek say you are in need of God.’
‘Who isn’t, Jolo?’
‘You need faith.’
Within the precincts of Lalish, the offer seemed perfectly natural.
‘Who are those women?’
‘Fiqreyyat.’
Ashe studied the aged women in all-white, toga-like woollen garments, with great turbans wrapped around their hair and under their chins.
‘Nuns?’
‘They serve at the sanctuary. Pure women. They spend their lives at Lalish.’
Ashe’s eyes moved from the fiqreyyat to a striking image by the entrance to the Sanctuary of Sheykh Adi. A huge, coal-black serpent, tall as a man, slithered upwards in stone relief.
‘Our serpent at Lalish! Every day, serpent is made black again. Dye is from zirgûz trees – and ash from fires of Lalish.’
There were other carvings by the door. Ashe stared at the combs and the images of the sun. The hexagrams – interlaced triangles – were like stars of David or seals of Solomon, he thought. There were also birds, a hatchet, what looked like shepherds’ crooks, six-petalled flowers in circles, and the sun, moon and stars in circles.
Jolo shook his head. ‘Many more carvings long ago. Before your year of 1892.’
‘What happened?’
‘Turks burn Lalish. They kill many Yezidis. Many in prison. They steal our holy things. Yezidis always attacked by neighbours. Muslims had no mercy. We are not in their Book. When Turkish army want to be paid, government send them here to steal what they want. Now Sunnis murder us.’
Richmond interjected. ‘We’re doing our best, Jolo.’
‘Yes. Our best.’
A group of men stepped lithely through the sanctuary entrance, looking like Arab sheykhs in the familiar headdress and long, woollen surcoats. Each carried something in a brown, cotton bag.
‘Qewwals!’ cried Jolo. ‘You see? Daff and shebab!’
‘Is this courtyard part of the sanctuary, Jolo?’
‘Sometimes this is called sûq me’rifetê – the Market of Mystical Knowledge.’
Startled by the name, Ashe mumbled to himself. ‘Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy.’
‘What you say, Tobbiash?’
‘A poem by William Blake – an English Kochek.’
‘Is very good. But here also are shops by the walls at festivals where you can buy olive oil and sweets for children. And this market is not in desert – but in Paradise!’
A contented-looking Jiddan appeared in the courtyard. Jolo patted Ashe’s back. ‘Now we enter Qapiya Sheykh Adi.’
As they opened the sanctuary door beneath a Roman arch, Jiddan and Jolo kissed the threshold. Having crossed it, they gave their payment to a nun.
The sanctuary hall was dark and cool. Five ancient pillars supported its centre. Above them hung chandeliers. A few candles were lit.
Jolo whispered to Ashe. ‘See here! Hewdê Nasir el-Dîn.’ He pointed to a cistern. ‘Here Angel of Death come to clean his knife, when person dies in the world.’
‘He must be here now then.’
Jolo shuddered. ‘Do you see him?’
Ashe shook his head.
‘He does not want you to see him. So you are safe, Tobbiash. See! Behind that curtain: senjaq.’
‘Senjaq?’
‘Holy image.’
‘Can we see it?’
Jiddan interjected. ‘Must be special person. Qewwals take care of senjaq on its journey. They show to faithful Yezidis. You not Yezidis.’ The Kochek hurried to the end of the hall, then turned left into another chamber. ‘There is tomb of Sheykh Adi.’
Jiddan and Jolo circled the long stone slab three times and each tied a knot in one of the many colourful pieces of silk and cloth draped over the tomb. Jiddan spoke to a nun standing by a door on the left. ‘It is permitted.’
The door creaked open.
But for two rows of large earthenware jars, the chamber was empty. Ashe thought of the wedding at Cana.
‘Olive oil from sacred groves. For holy fires.’
Jiddan and Jolo tiptoed to the bare rock that formed the sanctuary’s north wall. They plunged their wrists down into two holes in the rock, saying ‘behisht, dozhe’ three times.
‘What are you saying?’
‘Behisht, dozhe?’ Jolo looked to Jiddan. The Kochek nodded. ‘It means “heaven, hell”.’
‘Like when you crossed the bridge earlier?’
‘A crossing, yes.’
‘Why do you do this?’
‘We always do this. It is right to do it. God knows the reason. What do we know of these things?’
Back in the tomb chamber of Sheykh Adi, they were shown another door. Jiddan looked through it, then called to his party. ‘Tomb of Sheykh Hesen. Now you have seen.’
Ashe was intrigued. ‘Not properly. May I look?’
‘Nothing to see,’ said the Kochek awkwardly. ‘We must hurry.’
Ashe entered the small tomb chamber. Sheykh Hesen’s tomb did not have the appeal of Sheykh Adi’s, judging by the amount of cloth laid upon it.
There was a small, modest door to the right.
‘What’s through there?’
‘Nothing.’
‘May I open it?’
‘Not allow,’ said Jiddan, trying hard to sound friendly.
Ashe showed no sign of moving. He remembered Gulé’s words about how coming to the Sheikhan was his destiny. ‘Can you tell me about it?’
‘We have not seen tomb of Sheykh Obekr.’
‘Can you tell me about this door?’
‘Please, Tobbiash. Outsiders not allowed.’
Richmond called Ashe. ‘Come on, Toby! Can’t you see the man’s upset?’
Ashe felt a powerful impulse to go through the plain door.
‘Come on, Ashe! Or we’ll leave you behind!’
‘Please, Tobbiash. I must go.’
Ashe turned back. The Kochek looked relieved. ‘We go back to suq.’
As they hurried over the cool steps, Ashe confided in Richmond. ‘Any idea what’s through that door, Simon?’
‘Something to do with a cave, I think. But I never pursue the matter. It annoys them.’
‘I wasn’t trying to interfere.’
‘Try and remember, Toby, these people have had to fight for access to this place. It’s incredibly important to them.’
‘It could be incredibly important to me too.’
‘Curiosity, Toby, killed the cat.’